This Was the Worst Spirit Week Ever




I realized something was up when I saw all of those people walking around with plus signs on their foreheads.

Fordham Lincoln Center isn’t a place renowned for its commitment to school spirit. Students walking around in maroon — even more rarely, emblazoned with the university moniker — raise eyebrows among the rest of us without fail. Our halls are green, our welcome center pioneers hospital-chic and it’s rumored the school store still has an unsold pennant from the ’80s.

When I saw a McMahon bulletin board advertising an upcoming spirit week, I thought things would be different this time. Each day promised new events. It was the culmination of a whole month of “giving it up” for something, apparently. I thought maybe, just maybe, the Jesuits had something fun in store for us.

Boy, was I wrong.

The week started out with what I assumed was a plant giveaway, like the bamboo they sometimes give away during events on the plaza. One thing led to another, and I’m pretty sure I ended up calling for the death of the Son of Man. At least, that’s what everyone around me reading from those books in the pews was doing. In between shouts of “Crucify him!” I tried to find out if the palms they gave us were re-plantable, to no avail.

I hoped the following days would improve on what was, admittedly, a slow start for Fordham. Monday and Tuesday, however, no one really had a good idea of what was going on. I could have sworn I heard that Jesus did something with a dead guy, but I must have missed that event. John and Mark, who I assumed were coordinating this whole thing, were nowhere to be found.

I wondered if “The Cleansing of the Temple (21:12 – 21:17)” would even show up on OrgSync.

“Spy Wednesday” (or was it Holy Wednesday?) conjured thoughts of James Bond movie marathons in South Lounge. Suffice it to say, my disappointment after a day of betrayal to high priests and leprosy was palpable.

I was curious to find out the meaning of “Maundy” as Thursday rolled around, but after they told me to take my socks and shoes off to get my feet washed, I got weirded out and left.

They advertised the dinner that night as “the supper to end all suppers,” but honestly, it was lacking. The line was so long to get food, and I’m not entirely sure what we got was anything better than the Community Dining Hall could provide. When someone told me I was drinking blood and eating flesh, that was enough to send me home early. Not a single free shirt, key chain or Snapchat filter were to be had anywhere.

Good Friday wasn’t even good at all. I heard Jesus died or something. Not a great look, Catholics.

The weekend went from bad to worse as I was made aware that the Lamb of God was still dead. Asking around about when or if he’d be back (as I’d heard rumors) were only met with knowing smiles and “No spoilers!”

It was frustrating, but even more infuriating after all mentions of rolling stones turned out to be completely unrelated to a surprise concert.

The conclusion of a wholly strange and utterly unorthodox spirit week was yet another left turn. After a week of foot washing, leprosy and not a single giveaway, the school was littered with plastic eggs and rabbit imagery. I had eaten human flesh, called for the death of an innocent man and there wasn’t even a commemorative mug at the end of it all. At the culmination of Fordham’s strangest spirit week yet, I was as lost as I was when I first laid eyes on that bulletin board.

Then, like it all wasn’t overwhelming enough, someone told me Jesus was back again.

Honestly, I would’ve appreciated a warning.